Dakan's Ki Earth Journal - Day 10

Dakan’s America Journey - Day 10

It was very difficult for me to leave Copper Harbor, but I did, early this morning. I still have many stories to tell of my experiences there, and I’m sure I’ll splice them in now and then. I’m in this sort of writers dance of wanting to tell stories that happened in the past, while more so wanting to stay current, and write about what is happening Now.

At this very moment I’m at a rest stop on Hwy 2, on the north shore overlooking Lake Michigan. I stopped to do my duty, but unfortunately pulled in right behind a large herd of black leather, a bunch of nasty looking Harley dudes. Now I’m a bit afraid to follow them in . . . you know . . . to stand in a Hell’s Angel’s poop line. (I wrote that because my niece Allison Fraley is Kauai’s Solid Waste Coordinator, and she just loves my gutter humor . . .) (. . . . . . not)

So, driving down the long Highway toward the Mackinac Bridge connecting the Upper Peninsula (UP) of Michigan with the rest of the state, and separating Lake Michigan from Lake Huron, I continued my thoughts about “Opinions,” “Points of View” and “Belief Systems,” and where they come from. We had been talking about some “dyed in the wool” opinions of people in the Midwest, you know - worldly thoughts and views by people who have never, in their whole adult life, left their little town in the upper tip of Michigan.

Before I left Seattle heading East, (for Instance regarding my opinion thoughts) I took a two day side trip up to Bellingham, just south of the Canadian border. Wanting to experience Americana, I went to breakfast at an IHOP restaurant. Walking in I scanned the pancakes and they all looked plastic, so I ordered the spinach and mushroom crepe with hollandaise sauce. (there’s some French in me somewhere)

OK - the bikers are long gone . . . I’ll be right back. (three minutes later - “I don’t think so”) Later: (you don’t care) I also stopped here to eat the carrot cake muffin I bought yesterday at the bakery of a gold-domed Catholic monastery near Copper Harbor - “The Brotherhood of the ZZ Tops” (belly beards).

Back to my story about opinions . . . So my crepe arrived. I don’t know about the spinach, but the mushrooms were “perfect” from the can and the day-glow orange “hollandaise” was gross looking. I braved a taste and about gagged, then scrapped it all off with a knife and flagged down the waitress for another plate.

“What’s the matter,” she asked. “You don’t like the hollandaise?”

“Well, I’d say it’s an insult to hollandaise,” I answered. “More like creamed Velveta.”

And the colored girl said, “What’s wrong with VEL-VE-TA!?” (got to say it with attitude)

When I started East and decided to blog, that was one of the first stories I was going to write - thinking about what the “colored girl” said. I drove all the way through Washington, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota and then up through the country of Minnesota. Late in the evening when it was getting dark - and right before the thunder and lightning, before blackness and a one hour torrential downpour where I could barely stay on the country road at 30 mph, I thought maybe I saw a black man riding a bicycle. But then I think I was hallucinating. So .. . through the whole West and into Minnesota, then Wisconsin and now over 300 miles of Michigan highway . . . I’ve come to an “Opinion,” “Point of View,” and maybe a “Belief System.” And this is it: There are no black people living between Seattle and this rest stop in Northern Michigan. At least as far as I can tell. And the Northern Minnesotan with the heavy Norwegian/German/Swedish/Finnish accent says, “Well . . . ya know . . . I think all the black folks live in Detroit. What I don’t know is how those Red Wings were able to field a hockey team.”

Oh lordy . . . too much highway . . . Decided to plow on down through the middle of Michigan - I-75. Go my doors locked and my shotgun - heading into Detroit City.

Got more stories to tell tomorrow. Blessings, Dakan